


The Weight of Destiny

by frenchtuck



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (slight) - Freeform, Canon Divergence, F/F, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Post-Time Skip, Tons of pining, spoilers for Crimson Flower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 16:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20678453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchtuck/pseuds/frenchtuck
Summary: A study of the rise to her fate, through the lens of a certain red cape.





	The Weight of Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of my new favorite character of all time-enjoy. (I've never written any kind of FF before, constructive criticism only pls and thanks).

Despite having been made for her, the cape was far more cumbersome than Edelgard had expected. She had begrudgingly donned it a moon after the seizing of Garreg Mach, stricken with grief but determined to meet her destiny as empress. The crimson fabric was regal and off-putting, catching and throwing light from the stained-glass windows in a haunting manner as if it were coaxing blood from the marble floors as she traipsed over them. It was heavy over her shoulders, and much too big, causing her to stoop gently under its might. It was laced with sharp fastenings, ghosting inside the fabric and piercing her sides whenever she would get nearly comfortable. It was far too warm, lighting the skin of her back and arms ablaze and keeping a constant color in her cheeks. On sunny days, she felt she was being burned alive; on most days, she felt it was what she deserved.

Hubert had asked her to take it off once, trying desperately not to alert her to his growing concern. The Black Eagle Strike Force had come to know her well, but none were quite attuned to her as that eerie warlock boy, determined to be her holy shadow. The war was locked in a stalemate, with neither the Kingdom nor the Alliance showing any signs of life in the last two moons. The winter had brought a synthetic peace to the front lines, but the cold had dealt heavy damage to the morale of the troops. The pair had been strategizing again on the second floor, windows opened despite the chill. “Your Majesty, may I humbly suggest that you remove your cape for a while? It’s clear that it has been causing you…anguish as of late.” Hubert paused, aware of the sensitive topic he was breaching. “No one would see but I, your majesty.” He bowed, as if it were that simple, to just remove the thing that tied her to the power she feared was borrowed to begin with. Edelgard sighed and turned her weary eyes to him. “No, I don’t think I will.” Hubert nodded grimly and stalked to the other side of the table. “Very well.” He relented. “That’s that.”

In spite of herself, Edelgard often daydreamed of a future in which she could remove the cape and still be seen as the Empress. The anxieties of proving oneself to a war-torn continent had taken a heavier toll on her than she could have anticipated, so she reveled in the possibility of one day being able to remove her decorum and lead her people regardless. She dreamed, also, of someone to share it with. In the years and moons since the disappearing of Byleth, Edelgard had never once gone a day without craving her presence, without thirsting for her guidance, without being plagued with guilt at the circumstances of her vanishing. She had even once dreamt of a future in which they ruled together, united in body and mind over an empire rebuilt from the precious sacrifice of those unwilling to abide injustice. The cape was never included in such private fantasies, but it waited on her wardrobe to greet her as she wrestled from the fog of sleep.  
Byleth returned to her unceremoniously, and Edelgard had to stand on her toes to hug her properly. The years she had spent yearning for one more day by her teacher’s side had cast blades of grief deep into her entire being, but she had never quite committed to believing that Byleth was truly dead. She longed to do more than hug her; she longed to take her hand, to spin her around the tower in dance, or even to softly cradle her cheek and submit to her gaze but knew it would all be too much. Still, they embraced in the fading light atop the tower as Foldan quietly raged beneath them. Edelgard knew the cape was there, but she was too elated to take notice of it. To feel her former teacher’s arms encircle her shoulders and support their weight unflinchingly was more than she could have ever prayed for, more than she could have hoped any goddess was willing to provide some agnostic renegade who dared call themselves Emperor of a pious people. “El,” Byleth whispered, “I’m here. For as long as you shall have me.” Edelgard fought back tears and nodded, still pressed tight to Byleth’s chest. She smelled musty and crisp like she had fought her way home from the depths of a bog. Edelgard hoped she would smell like Byleth after she let go.

Lysithea was the first to notice the change in Edelgard’s posture after the resurrection of their former teacher. She approached her in the library with a cross expression and whispered, “Have you gotten taller?” There was annoyance in her voice, but amusement also. Edelgard was taken aback, not expecting to be accused of undergoing a growth spurt in the midst of a crusade. “No, I definitely have not gotten taller. Perhaps I’m just standing up straighter?” She suggested. Lysithia nodded, grinning at the confession. “Interesting. I wonder why that is. Or maybe, who caused it. Goodbye!” The girl spun around and sped to the door, leaving the empress in shock behind her. Later, when Edelgard asked Hubert if he had noticed it too, he could only laugh and shake his head. “You could say that I’ve noticed, yes. Your cape does not drag on the floor anymore. You are holding your head higher, looking ahead of you, even smiling from time to time. It would be hard not to notice that, Lady Edelgard.” He bowed and turned away slightly as if to signal to her that there was no defending herself with him. “Perhaps…” she mused to herself, “There is finally hope again.” When the young empress walked to Byleth’s chambers that night, she noticed that her cape was not dragging behind her anymore. She hoped Byleth noticed it too.

The final battle against the Church of Seiros blazed through Edelgard’s mind, unable to focus as her adrenaline took over. Byleth never once left her side, and the two cut down enemies with a bombastic grace that seemed to suggest a near-telepathic connection to one another. The armored lord was aware that the city was burning, that innocents were dying, that her own men were on the brink of their lives; but only barely. She could only think of Byleth, her teacher, her beloved, as the promise of sunrise brought them to the mangled feet of the Immaculate one. The beast heaved and sputtered with rage as they opposed her, their weapons ringing out hollow promises of liberation with each synchronized blow. When the creature finally faltered, Byleth looked to Edelgard with an unreadable expression and nodded, inviting her partner to join her in the fatal strike. She nodded and returned the gesture, and the two leaped to meet their fate together.  
If seeing Amyr pierce the archbishop’s scales was the highest point in Edelgard’s life, seeing Byleth collapse was the lowest. She had once heard that time stood still when you witness something so tragic as the love of your life perish, but she felt everything speed up at the moment that Byleth’s body hit the ground. Every one of her senses was heightened as she ran toward her; the sound of flames licking flesh and stone, the sound of cheering in the distance, the smell of rust and blood. She reached Byleth and sank to her knees, unable to keep herself from touching her. The young empress cradled her in her arms, sobs wracking her frame before she could feel them coming. The body was still, offensively peaceful in her embrace. In her state of bereavement, Edelgard instinctively removed her cape and draped it around Byleth as if to make sure the body would not go cold just yet. She sat in shock, the near corpse of her dearest companion clutched to her chest, victory long forgotten. In her grief for herself, her love, and her future, the young woman did not notice the body gently stirring in her arms, showing signs of life under the enormity of the cape. Slowly, Byleth raised her hand to meet Edelgard’s, and time slowed to its normal speed yet again. “This cape is…far too cumbersome. Why do you wear it?” Byleth joked weakly. Amongst the flames and the rubble of a continent soon to exist only in memory, Edelgard laughed.

It should not have surprised Edelgard that Byleth would propose to her with no expression on her face, and yet, she felt she was dreaming again. She’d said yes emphatically, swooning unashamedly at having even been asked. They were standing in the window of the goddess tower with their hands linked when Byleth, her fiancée, removed the red cape from her shoulders and said, “Your burdens are mine now.” The Empress protested, of course, but secretly thought that it suited her beloved far more than it did her. For the first time in her life, Edelgard saw her future clearly without feeling the weight of her past on her shoulders.

The night before their wedding, Hubert gave them matching capes of black velvet adorned with two golden eagles, facing each other in dignity and defiance. The red cape was soon abandoned in a heap on the stone floor of their chamber; she never wore it again.


End file.
